He Plays at Hazard
by Celandine Brandybuck
Summary: Harry makes Snape an offer he hopes cannot be refused.
1. Laid Bare

**Laid Bare**

The sigh seemed exaggerated, even for Snape. "And just why would I want to listen to your inane maunderings, Potter?"

"Did you have something better to do?" Harry gestured at the bare little room. "We still have eighteen hours to wait before the attack. If we do any magic, it'll be detected, and personally I can't sleep for that long, even if two blankets on a stone floor were less uncomfortable."

"Talking to you is not necessarily preferable to silence," Snape muttered. "Unlike yourself, _I_ have plenty to think about to keep me occupied."

"Like what, potions recipes?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Snape glowered at him. "I've been trying to reformulate the Wolfsbane Potion to be more stable, so that it can be brewed in advance rather than every month. An improvement that I believe your friend Lupin might appreciate."

"Oh," said Harry, looking down. "I didn't realize..."

"No, you wouldn't have."

"You could talk about it with me," Harry offered.

"As if that could possibly help. Miss Granger, perhaps, but not you."

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to stay calm. How did Snape _always_ manage to make him feel small? "Even if I don't know nearly as much about the principles of potion-making as you do, discussing it might be useful," he said stubbornly.

"I would rather not." Snape sat on one of the two rickety wooden chair and closed his eyes. "If you _must_ natter on to stave off your boredom, choose some other topic. Ideally something that might be of mutual interest."

Mutual interest? Snape couldn't possibly have guessed what Harry wanted to talk about, could he? And wasn't going to, not without feeling his way a bit first

"Er," said Harry, "er, why did you decide to do this?"

"Do what, precisely?"

"Come back." He waved his hands vaguely, not sure quite what he meant himself. "Keep helping the Order. After... after Dumbledore, you must have seen in the _Prophet_, or heard from someone who had, that you were identified as his killer."

"I trusted Albus to have left exonerating information about the orders he gave me, to Minerva if to no one else." Snape frowned. "I didn't think it would take so long for her to believe it."

"That was partly my fault," Harry admitted.

"So I have been given to understand." Opening his eyes, Snape glared at Harry. "Are you enjoying this discussion?"

"I want to know what your motives are," Harry said adamantly. Not that it really made any difference, but he was curious.

"It seems rather late for that, given that you will be relying on my help to destroy your enemy in less than a day." Snape raised his eyebrows. "I might also want to know yours."

"That's easy." Harry shrugged. "It's me or him, according to the prophecy. I don't like it but I've had to get used to the idea."

"But why work with me?" pressed Snape. "We have a long history of, shall we say, mutual dislike. You could have ensured that your partner tomorrow was Shacklebolt, or Moody, or any of a number of other people; you have enough prestige to have done that." For once he sounded more interested than contemptuous.

"I could say that you're the only member of the Order who's actually been inside the building, and knows the most about it, so you're the most... reliable."

"You _could_ say that." Snape pounced on the conditional. "But you don't."

"No." Harry stopped pacing and sat on the other chair, turned slightly away from his companion.

"Why, then?" The dark voice was wary, not a tone Harry was accustomed to hearing from those lips. "Because you don't trust me, I suppose."

Harry laughed at that, a choked snort that he couldn't hold back, even for Snape's furious scowl. "Rather the opposite, actually." They could both die, he reminded himself. Which would be worse – to speak, and risk Snape not just loathing him but having something to hold over his head, should they both live; or to stay silent, and possibly never have the chance again?

"What do you mean? You've never believed that anything I did was for your good, or the Order's good. _That_ has been evident for years."

"Professor." That was not right; Snape was no longer his teacher. To use his surname alone seemed equally wrong, somehow, and he _definitely_ was unable to call him "Severus." There was only one alternative. Harry shook his head and began again, watching Snape sidelong. "Sir."

Snape's eyes widened.

"I was wrong," said Harry. "I misunderstood what you were doing, and why. I apologize."

"Trying to salve your conscience with a last confession?" The snapped words were as condescendingly daunting as anything Harry had ever heard from Snape, but he went on nonetheless.

"Maybe, but that's not all I wanted to say." He faltered at that point, shifting on the seat of the chair and clenching his hands in the folds of his robe.

After several minutes, Snape said, "Well?"

"If we both survive tomorrow... um. I'd like to make it up to you. How I've acted all this time. Anything that you want, from me going away and never darkening your door again, to... well, to putting myself into your hands. For whatever you choose to do with me." Harry risked a more direct glance at Snape, who looked disconcerted. "And I do mean anything," he added softly.

"That is not necessary." Snape's voice was stiff, and Harry could see his throat moving as he swallowed. "You don't want..."

"I _do_ want," Harry knew that it was rude to cut across Snape like that, but he couldn't let the words be said. "Even Ron sees me as The Boy Who Lived, sometimes. You don't. There's no one I could trust more than the person who's seen all my secrets," he flinched and hurried past that tender subject, "who only thinks of me as Harry. Don't you understand?"

Snape was quiet. At last he said, "_If_ we both are alive, this time tomorrow... you may make me that offer again, if you still mean it."

"I will." The promise was sweet on Harry's tongue. "I will."


	2. Something Ventured

**Something Ventured**

He had been thinking about his promise in stray moments all morning as they fought their way in. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to make it; distraction was not something he needed, not when so many lives were at stake. But with Snape next to him, scowling with the effort of staving off the desperate curses of his former colleagues, Harry would have been distracted anyway.

Other members of the Order were supposed to have been breaking into the old manor from other entrances, but they hadn't yet encountered any of their allies when they reached the room where Voldemort waited. Harry was sure that his friends must be in the building, fighting the Death Eaters, because they had encountered too few for any other explanation. Unless some of the Death Eaters had fled altogether – possible. Not something he needed to think about now. Now he had to destroy his enemy, or be destroyed in turn.

"Do you think you can beat me, boy?" Voldemort taunted him. "You haven't the resolve to cast a killing curse. Dear Bellatrix told me of your feeble efforts." Harry drifted around the edge of the room, leaving Snape near the door.

"That's what we're here to find out, isn't it?" said Harry grimly. He drew out his wand, but made no attempt to curse Voldemort yet, only holding his gaze, waiting.

Voldemort came forward, his robes swirling around him as he pushed up his sleeves and sneered. "It will be sweet, very sweet, to at last complete what should have been accomplished twenty years ago. You were as foolish as your parents, to come here to challenge me." He raised his wand. "_Avad_..."

He never finished the phrase. Snape, disregarded, had circled behind his former master and slit his throat. Voldemort crumpled to the floor with a thud, his wand falling from his hand and rolling away.

"Surprising." Snape's voice was dry as he wiped his blade and toed at the corpse in its tangled robes. "I did not expect it to be this easy."

Harry nodded. "Neither did I. But I'm glad. I really didn't want to have to use one of the Unforgivables... although he was wrong. I could have, if I had had to. Thank you." He backed against the wall and sat down, weary after all the hours of anticipation and tension.

"You're welcome." Snape wouldn't meet Harry's eyes.

"The only thing is... you killed him. Not me. Which isn't what the prophecy said." Harry frowned.

"It would not have been possible for me to do so, had you not held his attention," Snape pointed out.

"Don't you want the credit for it?"

"Hardly," snorted Snape. "All I want is to be exonerated of any charges, and then left alone. Preferably for the rest of my life."

Looking at him, Harry believed it. Snape's always-sallow skin was papery, the circles under his eyes looking like enormous bruises, and he was gaunt to the point of emaciation. "All right," said Harry slowly. He pushed himself up to his knees. "Give me the knife."

Snape's expression was unreadable as he handed the blade to Harry and watched as he plunged it into Voldemort's motionless chest.

"There." His voice shook a little. "I can say truthfully that I stabbed Voldemort. Everyone knows that I was prophesied to kill him. They won't ask if you gave the first blow."

"Perhaps not." Snape sounded doubtful.

Harry crawled back to the wall and leaned against it. "Don't worry about it. I've had to deal with Rita Skeeter for ages now. I'll set Hermione on her if need be."

He was nonplused to hear Snape chuckle. "I would favor Miss Granger in that match."

"Me too." Harry sighed. "I suppose we should go tell everyone that we've won, shouldn't we?"

"I expect so."

"But there's something I have to tell you first. What I said last night..."

"Is forgotten," Snape cut him off. "You were far too apprehensive to know what you were saying."

"_No._" Harry sat upright and glared at him. "No. I meant it. I still mean it, now more than ever. Call it an overdeveloped sense of Gryffindor honor if you like, but it's not just that. For all the mistrust I've shown you, I will make amends – and it's _your_ decision how I should make them. Tell me to leave you alone forever, and I'll do it. Ask for anything I own, and it's yours. You're the one person who knows me, inside and out, better than anyone, and even when I was rude or worse, you didn't change. Everything you did was to ensure that I would reach this day, just as Dumbledore planned."

"I stopped teaching you Occlumency," Snape reminded him. "Which I should not have done. You owe me nothing."

"It's not a question of owing. Don't you see, I _want_ this?" Harry burst out. He went on more softly, "I want _you_. If that's not what you want, then tell me."

Snape opened his mouth as if to speak, but at that moment Ron's voice came through the doorway.

"Harry? Harry, are you there?"

"We're in here." Harry mustered up a smile as Ron came in, followed by Hermione, and a moment later Kingsley Shacklebolt and several other Order members; some of them staggering a bit, but it looked as though everyone had survived. "We're fine. Voldemort's dead." He jerked his thumb at the bloody corpse.

"Oh, _Harry_," Hermione cried, pulling him to his feet and hugging him, tears running down her dirt-streaked face. "Oh, you did it, I knew you could."

After that there was no chance to speak again to Snape, not for hours. The wizarding world exploded with joy. Harry endured the endless questions, congratulations, speeches from the Minister and everyone else who thought themselves important. He thought he'd have gone mad without Ron and Hermione sticking by him, when all he wanted was to hear Snape's answer. Not until long after midnight was he able to escape, to flee to his room in Grimmauld Place, searching for silence.

There was a note on the pillow, a single word scratched on it in spiky black ink.

_Yes._


	3. Hold Fast

**Hold Fast**

It had been a week since Voldemort's demise, a week since Snape had left his terse response – _Yes_ – on Harry's pillow, to say that he accepted Harry's apology and would allow him to make amends.

In that week Harry had laid eyes on the older man precisely once, when the Ministry had called all members of the Order of the Phoenix who had participated in the final attack to accept a formal thanks. Harry was told he would be given the Order of Merlin, First Class; the others would all receive the Order of Merlin, Second Class. He bit back his protest that Snape ought also to be granted the First Class honor. Although he had promised not to reveal who had been directly responsible for killing Voldemort, it shamed him to take credit that he didn't fully deserve. From across the room, Snape nodded almost imperceptibly when Harry flushed and stammered his thanks, and that kept him from speaking out.

But now, after a week of wild celebrations throughout wizarding Britain, things were dying down. The house in Grimmauld Place was quiet when Harry entered, careful not to disturb the portrait of Mrs. Black. He slipped along the hallway to the kitchen, where he knew there were a few Butterbeers left by the Weasley twins after an impromptu party two nights before. He had opened one and was taking a healthy gulp when a deep voice spoke from the doorway.

"Good evening, Mister Potter." Snape stepped into the room.

Harry choked and spluttered, setting the bottle down. "You're here," he stated the obvious. "Er. I'd started to think what you wanted was just to be left alone."

"I considered that possibility," said Snape. "It had a certain appeal. Upon further thought, however, I felt I should at least speak with you first." He indicated Harry's drink. "May I?"

"Oh, of course," Harry said hastily, grabbing a second Butterbeer and handing it to Snape. "D'you want to sit down?"

Snape nodded and waited with cool courtesy for Harry to lead the way into the next room. Harry sat on the worn purple-damasked sofa, hoping Snape would sit at the other end, but he chose an armchair a few feet away instead.

"I understand why you made this offer." Dark eyes bored into Harry's own as Snape drank.

Harry flushed; Snape's skill at Legilimency doubtless gave him more knowledge of Harry's motives than was comfortable.

"In part, at least. Your ideas of fair play and honor are as typically Gryffindor as I've ever seen. But I think you may come to regret this."

"I won't," blurted Harry. "I'm sure of that."

Snape raised a finger. "Don't interrupt, Potter." The way he growled Harry's name sent a shiver down Harry's spine and into his groin, and he nodded silently.

"You think that by submitting yourself to me you will expiate any offenses of the past, but I assure you that no matter what you do, your former misdeeds will continue to weigh on your conscience. There is no respite." The dim light of the lamps in the room exaggerated the lines around the corners of Snape's mouth and the sagging skin of his neck. "I could demand anything of you; you set no limits. One final time, I ask you: is this truly what you want?"

"It is." Harry swallowed. "I told you before. Especially now, almost everyone who looks at me will see me as not just the Boy Who Lived, but as the Chosen One, the Hero of the Wizarding World. Even Seamus, who shared a room with me for years, is treating me differently. But to you, I'm just Harry... and I need that. I need _you_. Do you want me to be plainer? Yes. You can ask anything of me, _anything_, and I'll do it; just treat me as Harry, a real person, someone who maybe is irritating to you, but not set apart and untouchable."

"Not untouchable." Snape's lip curled. "You give yourself away, Mister Potter. But what if I do not wish to touch you?"

The question was like a blow. He had been certain that Snape was like himself, preferring men. Now Harry realized that he really had no evidence of that; he had merely assumed it.

"Then you needn't." He was proud that his voice didn't shake. "If you'd rather that I keep away from you, I will. It's the least I can do." He met Snape's gaze. "Read my thoughts if you'd like and you'll know I'm telling the truth."

"As I have tried on several occasions to explain to you, Legilimency is not mind-reading." Snape made an exasperated sound.

"Sensing my emotions, then. Whatever. You know that I can't block you, and I'm offering you the chance to look freely." Harry's mind was churning, memories from school mixing with more recent thoughts and fancies, a tangle of feelings that even he could not sort out but which had drawn him to put himself in this vulnerable position. Snape might laugh, might walk out, might pity him...

He did none of these things, simply looking at Harry, his expression unreadable but intent. What he said next came as an utter surprise.

"Only if you do the same."

Harry's mouth dropped open. Snape couldn't mean that. But the other man nodded, so Harry thought back to the one time that he had found his way into Snape's memories, and tried to recapture it, focusing on Snape's face and _pushing_ at his mind. It was far easier than he recalled, now that Snape was not attempting to shut him out, but the images flickered wildly.

"Oh!" As he tried to sort through what he was seeing, Harry recognized himself in Snape's thoughts, and felt a surge of emotion – compassion/resentment/pride/irritation/lust, all mixed together. This was how Snape felt about him, he understood, this confusion of feeling so similar to his own.

He blinked, overwhelmed, and suddenly Snape was next to him on the sofa. He smelt of bitter herbs and faintly of something that Harry could not quite place. Harry could see blue whiskers under the skin of his cheeks and chin. He reached to touch, needing to feel the roughness to anchor himself to reality once more, but Snape caught his wrist.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"You..." Snape shut his eyes briefly, shaking his head. "I couldn't be sure, from what I saw. I am not the first, for you?"

Snape was frightened, Harry realized, though he couldn't see why. "No." He didn't elaborate, but Snape's jaw unclenched.

"Good." He sat back. "I came here tonight planning to refuse you. Oh, I was sure that you thought you meant what you said; and as a Gryffindor you would go through with it."

Harry waited when Snape stopped speaking. If Snape had planned to refuse him... did that mean he'd changed his mind, now?

"I still should, I suppose." The smile was bitter, self-mocking. "And I may come to regret this decision. But if I am the only one you trust to treat you simply as a person, rather than as a hero, well, you're the only one who thinks of me as something other than a traitor who has tried to redeem himself. And I can hardly deny the appeal of that."

Relief welled up inside him as Harry whispered, "I'm glad, sir." For the first time in months he felt unburdened by either obligation or achievement. He had no illusions that Snape would be any less prickly or sarcastic than he had ever been; he didn't want that. "Severus." This was enough.

"Harry," said Snape, and reached for him.


	4. Thou My Oblation

**Thou My Oblation**

Snape's body was bony under the fabric of his robes. He had driven himself hard, just as Harry had, in pursuing Voldemort's destruction. Tentatively, Harry ran his hands down Snape's back, feeling the stiff angles as their lips came together in a first, awkward kiss.

It felt _right_, somehow, as none of the kisses Harry had given or received before had done. Awkward, yes, until Harry turned his head and squirmed to get into a better angle, and urgent, yet somehow unhurried. Neither of them was going anywhere. Snape had said that he had intended to refuse Harry, but he had changed his mind, and clearly that meant a complete change. He kissed as if he didn't care whether anything more ever happened between them. Harry shivered with the intensity of it, focusing on each movement of Snape's lips and tongue against his own.

He didn't know how long they simply lay there on the sofa, embraced, tasting each other's mouths. His glasses came askew within moments, but when the poke of the earpiece became too uncomfortable and he finally reached to pull them off, Snape did it for him, lifting them gently. They caught on one ear and Snape gave a little grunt as if he were afraid he had hurt Harry. He set them on the table beyond Harry's head.

"Severus." He spoke the name in a half-whisper, still finding it strange on his tongue.

Dark hooded eyes met his own. "Yes?"

"I... I want..." Harry faltered, unsure of what he did want, of how to say it. "I want to know what _you_ want," he hedged in the end, convinced that the expression on Snape's face was sufferance, not patience. He could no longer reach past the cool surface into the memories the other man had shared so briefly.

"What I want?" A sardonic smile touched those thin lips. "Surely that is obvious." Snape twisted, the firmness of his cock pressing against Harry's leg.

Harry lifted his hand, rubbing his thumb over the faint stubble as he traced the line of Snape's jaw and then swept up to his mouth. "I mean, how." He felt his face grow warm. "I offered to do anything you want. I hoped you would want something like this, but... I need to know just what that is."

"You'll do anything I want," repeated Snape, his fingers tightening on Harry's shoulders. "Anything at all?"

Fear touched him. What if Snape wanted something extreme, perhaps to beat Harry, or worse? That wasn't impossible; Snape's emotions toward him had been so complex that Harry could not disentangle them. But he had promised, and he would not renege. He steeled himself to say it, though he could not entirely control the tremor in his voice.. "Anything."

Snape sighed and pulled away, sitting up. "I prefer my partners to be enthusiastic, not merely willing. I should not have accepted your offer."

"No!" Harry spoke without thought or hesitation. "I want this. I do." He reached to touch Snape's leg, sliding up along the dark fabric until he reached Snape's cock. "Please. It's not because I'm... I mean, it's been a long time since I've been with anyone, and I know you might think I made this offer because I'm desperate for some kind of acceptance, but that's not the reason. I don't want to be with just anyone I want _you_."

Snape's face was composed. "So you're asking what I want so that you know how to act." It was not a question, but Harry answered it as one nonetheless.

"Well... yeah, that's more or less what I meant," said Harry, now embarrassed. Should he have simply started to undo that long line of buttons and let events take their course, instead of speaking?

"Harry." Snape looked serious, even stern, almost as if he were about to take points from Gryffindor. "I thought you didn't want to be treated as a hero."

"I don't!" Harry protested. "What does that have to do with it?"

"You need to allow yourself to make mistakes, then," said Snape. "It's not necessary that this... encounter... be perfect, is it?"

Harry bit his lip. "It is if it's the only one that there will be between us." He hadn't wanted to admit that he cared.

"Ah. That concerns you." Snape raised one eyebrow. "And if I say that I do not intend for this to be our only evening together, will you be reassured?"

"Yes," said Harry, relief flooding through him. Snape wasn't treating this as a casual fling. Not that Snape was ever casual. And if he wanted Harry to be not just willing but passionate, then he wouldn't ask for something Harry didn't want to give, would he? It would be all right. He sat up and leaned against Snape's shoulder, pressing his nose against Snape's neck under his ear and breathing in the scent of his skin, noticing once more the bitter herbal odor of something he could not quite place.

An arm came around him, and then they were kissing again, but this time Harry retained enough of his wits to reach for the throat of Snape's robes and start unbuttoning. He himself was wearing a jumper – one of Mrs. Weasley's creations – with a t-shirt under it, and Snape slipped one hand below the jumper to pull his shirt free from his trousers and slide along the skin of Harry's back, drawing him closer.

"Mmm," breathed Snape into Harry's ear, his fingertips tracing along Harry's side and up to his armpit, tugging gently at the hair there. It very nearly tickled, but not quite, and rather to his own shock Harry found it intensely erotic. He squirmed as every drop of blood in his body seemed to rush straight to his prick, which was pressed most uncomfortably against the zip of his jeans. He stopped fumbling with Snape's buttons and tried to adjust the fabric binding his crotch, twisting until he could bring one knee underneath him, and then swinging his other leg around to nestle into Snape's lap.

"Do you need some assistance?" Snape's voice was smooth and dark, and despite the implicit sarcasm the sound of it sent tendrils of warmth through Harry's body.

"No, thank you," he said, returning to his self-imposed task of removing Snape's robes, as much of them as he could now reach, at least. When he had unbuttoned them to the point where his own body prevented him from going further, he eased the heavy dark cloth aside and saw pale skin liberally strewn with coarse black hair. He touched it, his fingers tentative, moving to find the moist heat of Snape's armpit, to see if he could make Snape feel the same arousal he did.

Snape gasped; a glance at his face, eyes closed, head thrown back, told Harry that his efforts were, if not entirely successful, at least on the right track. He bent down to suck fiercely at the hollow of Snape's throat.

Without warning Snape pushed Harry away, just far enough to yank Harry's jumper over his head, then took his wand from a pocket in his robes and tapped the sofa, Transfiguring it into a bed and causing several tables to be knocked aside in the process. Before he quite knew how it had happened Harry found himself sprawled out, naked to the waist, with Snape undoing his jeans as if any delay might be more dangerous to life and sanity than Voldemort ever had been.

A muttered spell, and Snape was leaning over Harry, unable to conceal a thread of anxiety in his voice. "You did say that you were... not inexperienced, with men?"

Harry shook his head, unable to speak. Snape's hand closed around the base of Harry's cock, guiding him into tight clenching heat.

"Let me..." Snape began to press down, his robes bunched around his waist. When his arse was brushing Harry's thighs, he held still for a minute. Harry was surprised, but he supposed that Snape must be accustoming himself to the feel of Harry's prick inside his body. He had only rarely been the bottom in his previous encounters with men, but he had expected that Snape would want to fuck him, and had in fact looked forward to it, to Snape taking him that way. This was unexpected, and if Snape had begun to move immediately Harry doubted that he could have held back at all.

Instead he looked up, running his gaze along the length of Snape's body. What he had felt through the heavy robes earlier was more than confirmed. Snape was thin to the point of gauntness; his belly was soft but almost nonexistent, and Harry could count his ribs under the tufts of dark hair. His Adam's apple jutted out, emphasizing the thinness of his neck, and his beaky nose dominated a face that was at present tense, poised between distress and pleasure at the feel of Harry's cock inside him. Any objective viewer would have described him as ugly, but Harry thought he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

As his eyes met Snape's, the other man began to move, flexing his thighs to rise up and down, letting Harry's cock thrust into his body. In those dark eyes Harry caught his own reflection – and then once again the barriers fell and he knew that Snape would allow him to see inside his thoughts. Astonished pleasure was the first impression that Harry sensed. He wasn't sure why the surprise; surely Snape had done such things before as well, or he would not have accepted Harry's offer? But Harry was glad to know that Snape found it so enjoyable. Perhaps the surprise was simply being with Harry at all. Harry allowed himself to think of how good it felt to him, too, the way that Snape's arse squeezed him as he moved rhythmically, rippling along his prick. All of a sudden he not only sensed Snape's pleasure, he _felt_ it, as if he _were_ Snape, as if he were fucking himself. He could feel the penetration, the way that the head of his prick slid past Snape's prostate, stimulating it almost unbearably . Harry reached to touch Snape's jutting prick, feeling the dampness at its head and starting to move his hand in time with Snape's own movements, letting Snape be the one to set the rhythm for them both.

"Harry," Snape whispered, his voice so low it was very nearly a groan.

"Severus," Harry choked out in return.

He saw Snape's eyes widen and worried for an instant that Snape found the use of his first name too intimate, though he hadn't objected earlier, but then Snape nodded, and paused in his rocking to lean forward and kiss Harry in a tangle of tongues and lips, rough and hard. His cock pulsed, trapped between them.

Snape bit at Harry's jaw at his ear, murmuring, "Come for me, Harry, it's all right... come for me," as he rocked now deeper, pressing Harry as far inside as he could.

Harry felt Snape's prick quiver beneath his hand, felt Snape's arse flexing around his prick. At the quiet command he came, whimpering, his eyes seeking out Snape's gaze once again, recognizing the triumph that Snape felt – a pleasure that was more than that of the body. Snape rocked up and down a few more times, his hand closing over Harry's on his own prick, moving them together until he too was splashing and spattering across Harry's chest, then letting himself fall forward, turning his head away to rest on Harry's shoulder with Harry's prick still inside him. He was so emaciated that it was not uncomfortable.

Hesitantly Harry smoothed his hand along Snape's spine. Even now Snape felt stiff, awkward. Harry did too. He wasn't sure what to say.

"Would you like to stay here tonight?" he asked hesitantly at last. "There are guest bedrooms. The beds are made," he added when Snape lifted his head to look at him with an odd expression.

Snape took a deep breath as he were going to say something, then let it out without speaking, examining Harry's face as if he were trying to read an answer there.

"Or... you could sleep in my bed," said Harry softly, with hope.

Snape nodded. "I would... I would like that, I think."

* * *

Author's note: The title is from Shakespeare's sonnet 125. 


	5. My Purpose Holds

**My Purpose Holds**

When Harry woke, he felt better than he had for a long time. Snape was still snoring gently next to him in the bed, one arm flung up across the pillow. His face was calm in repose, though Harry was shocked to see how old he looked, the circles under his eyes startlingly dark in the early morning light. Even his beaky nose looked thin, almost fragile. Harry decided to go downstairs and see what he had in the house for breakfast; at the very least, he could make the two of them some tea.

He shivered as he slid out from beneath the covers and padded across the room to pull a pair of pajamas from the drawer. It was a bit too cold to go wandering around Grimmauld Place with nothing on. Harry smiled as he thought about the reason why he had slept naked last night, something he didn't often do.

Closing the door quietly behind him, he hurried downstairs. He had heard no sounds, so when he went into the kitchen he was startled to see Fred and George Weasley standing by the fridge, peering inside.

"I was sure we left a dozen bottles here," Fred was saying, "but I only see eight. D'you reckon I miscounted?"

"No." George shook his head. "I think the culprit for the missing Butterbeers has just come in." He looked over his shoulder, then turned. "Our host. Looking rather more relaxed than he has done lately."

"Ah, Harry." Fred straightened, closing the door to the fridge. "If you drank them, no worries." He looked Harry up and down. "I'd say you look more relaxed than four Butterbeers last night would account for. I think he's been up to something, George."

"Have someone over, did you?" George leaned back against the cabinets, a smirk spreading across his face. "Do tell. I know it wasn't Ginny, Mum dragged her home to the Burrow. One of the Patil twins? I saw the way that Parvati was looking at you the other day. That girl won't take no for an answer."

Harry couldn't think of anything to say that was neither an outright lie nor the complete truth, so he just shook his head.

"Is whoever it is still upstairs?" asked Fred shrewdly.

"Er, yeah," Harry muttered, hoping that that bit of knowledge would satisfy the twins for the moment, though what he really wanted was for them to give up and go away. That was doubtless too much to hope for.

"Well done, Harry!" exclaimed George. "Come on, tell us. Who is it? Not Ginny, not Parvati -- don't tell me it's Loony Luna, or worse yet, one of those crazy witches who've been sending you fan mail."

"You know we'll find out eventually," grinned Fred.

"Hang on." George squinted at Harry, then looked at Fred, who nodded. "It is a girl, isn't it? Or is it a bloke you have hidden away upstairs, Harry?"

Harry couldn't stop the rush of blood to his cheeks, though again he didn't answer in words.

"Oh ho." Fred nodded at George. "Don't tell Charlie, George."

"I won't, Fred."

They both stared at Harry.

"Why not tell Charlie?" Harry asked, confused.

George shrugged. "If you really want our older brother making a pass at you, we'll go ahead."

"Charlie's queer?" Harry felt as if the bottom were falling out of his world. Charlie had always seemed so tough and manly, with his work with dragons. He was so at ease with himself that it had never entered Harry's head that Charlie might be anything but completely straight.

"He is," Fred affirmed. "Part of the reason he went off to Romania, isn't it, to keep Mum from fussing at him all the time about finding a nice girlfriend. We figured it out from how he talked about his mates there, and made him tell us. But don't worry. If you're already spoken for I don't think he'll bother you."

"I am curious, though," said George, stepping closer to Harry. "Just who is it? Someone we know?"

"I'm sure it is," Fred agreed. "He'd have told us already otherwise. Harry wouldn't be afraid to say he's queer, would he? After killing You-Know-Who, nothing could possibly frighten him."

Harry felt trapped. The twins were just too quick, guessing the truth even if he said nothing. "Does it matter who it is?" he asked with a show of bravado.

"We're interested, Harry, that's all," said Fred easily.

"Wouldn't want you to be taken advantage of by someone who only sees you as the Boy Who Lived," said George. "You're like a brother to us."

"And brothers should look out for their little brothers, shouldn't they?" said Fred.

Harry nodded, then shook his head. "I really don't think I need any help on this," he said. "Honestly."

"All right, if that's the way you want it." George shrugged. "We will find out eventually, if you stick with whoever it is."

"Or if that horrible Skeeter woman digs it up." The serious expression sat awkwardly on Fred's face. "You want to watch out for her, Harry."

"I will." Harry wondered desperately how to convince them to leave. It would be appalling if Snape were to wander down just now. Perhaps something of his dismay showed on his face, because Fred swept up half of the bottles of Butterbeer and left George to take the rest.

"We'd better be getting back to our own flat," he said cheerfully, much to Harry's relief. "You might want to think about resetting some of the locking charms on this place, you know? Anyone in the Order could wander in, after all."

George winked at Harry, saying nothing, then followed Fred out of the room. Harry could hear them talking as they went along the hallway to the front door, though he couldn't make out the actual words.

When the front door slammed, some of the tension left Harry, and he promptly put the kettle on to boil. Once the tea had brewed, Harry set the pot on a tray with two cups. He wasn't sure if Snape used milk and sugar or not, but Harry did, so he added the sugar bowl and a small pitcher of milk, plus spoons, then levitated the whole thing to float behind him as he went upstairs. Snape had shifted a bit; Harry hoped that meant he would wake up soon. In the meantime, he poured himself a cup of tea, climbed back into the bed, and leaned against the headboard, sipping and thinking.

He was just adding milk and sugar to his second cup when Snape rolled over, bumping into Harry's knee. That seemed to be what woke him up, for he gave a kind of snort, clutching at the bed clothes.

"Severus?" said Harry softly. It still felt odd to call his former profession by his first name, but after last night if they weren't on first name terms, then things had gone badly wrong. "I brought tea. Would you like some?"

Snape groped around with his hand and patted Harry's leg, as if assuring himself that Harry was really there. "Tea," came the muffled response.

"Yes, tea," said Harry. "I can pour you a cup. Do you like milk? Sugar?"

Snape shook his head, his face still turned into the mattress. At least, Harry was pretty sure that was what he was doing, so he poured the cup full and stroked Snape's shoulder with his other hand. "You'll have to sit up to drink it, you know."

"I haven't lost all of my wits overnight, Harry." There was less bite in the dark voice than usual, however, and when Snape rolled over, his expression was softer than Harry had ever seen it. He levered himself upright and took the cup from Harry, sipping at it. "Thank you."

What Harry would really have liked to do was to take the cup away from Snape's lips and kiss him, but he had to tell Snape what had happened. "We had guests this morning."

"What?" Snape choked slightly on his tea.

"Oh, I don't mean anyone came in here," said Harry hastily. "But when I went down to make tea, Fred and George were in the kitchen."

"And what in the names of all the mages were the Weasley twins doing here at this hour of the morning?"

Harry felt compelled to defend them, saying, "Well, it isn't that early. It's nearly eleven o'clock."

"Nevertheless, what was their purpose? Surely they don't check up on you daily." Snape raised an eyebrow.

"No, they were here to fetch the Butterbeers they'd left in the fridge earlier this week. But the thing is," Harry paused and swallowed. "The thing is, they guessed that I had someone staying here. Last night. I didn't tell them who, though."

"Why not?" Snape's voice was cool, and he looked intently at Harry over the rim of his tea cup as he took another drink.

"I didn't want them to know."

"And why did you not want them to know I was here?" asked Snape.

Suddenly Harry realized that perhaps Snape thought he, Harry, was ashamed of what they had done. "No," he said. "It's not that I didn't... I mean, I wasn't sure if you would want anyone to know you had stayed with me. You've always been very... reserved. And we hadn't talked about it."

"I see." Snape sounded thoughtful. "So you refused to tell the Weasleys in order to protect me?"

"Something like that," said Harry. He hadn't had anything quite so specific in mind, really; he had just felt that it would be a bad idea to share such information with people who would most likely treat it as an enormous joke. Which it wasn't at all, not to Harry, but he knew that most of his friends would laugh at the idea of him and Snape together, if not positively disbelieve it. Certainly it wasn't something he wanted to explain on the spur of the moment.

"Ah." Snape held his cup out to Harry. "More, please?" Harry refilled it. "I suppose we had better talk, at least a little bit, about this. Us." His face looked thin and pinched.

"It's not that I don't want anyone to know," said Harry. "But it's not as if the Prophet and the Quibbler and the WWN are likely to leave my private life alone." He gave Snape a twisted sort of grin. "They never did before, and I'm sure they won't start now."

"And unlike Gilderoy Lockhart, you don't feel that the more publicity, the better?" Snape said.

Harry laughed. "Hardly." He took a breath. "I enjoyed last night. Very much." He felt his cheeks warming as he spoke. "I'd be happy if you want to continue, but the promise was that I would do whatever you wished. So it's up to you, really. If you only wanted one night, then we needn't tell anyone at all, ever, if you don't want to."

Snape was eyeing him closely. "And if I do want more than a single night?"

"Then it's still up to you, I guess. Unless you think we should decide together," said Harry. "I don't want to hide, or lie to my friends, but I don't exactly want my private life splashed across the headlines."

Snape gave an inelegant snort. "I think you'll find that it is impossible for Harry Potter not to be in the headlines, regardless of your feelings on the matter. You might just possibly have some control over how often you appear in them, but I rather suspect that's the most you can hope for."

"Maybe it would be best to simply let it be known, then," Harry said thoughtfully. "If it's out in the open -- that I'm with you -- then there's not too much grist for the gossip mill, is there?"

"Less, I should hope, but not nothing." Snape shook his head. "Skeeter and her ilk will always be able to find rumors: that we've been seen quarreling in public, that's there's someone else on the horizon, all that sort of thing. We both know the sort of rubbish printed in her column."

"That'll still be better than having reporters dogging me all the time, printing rumors about me with other people. But only if you're willing, Severus. If you'd prefer to keep things quiet, then I'll go along with that instead."

Snape set down his teacup and ran a warm bony finger along the line of Harry's jaw, tracing the outline of Harry's mouth. "You do realize, don't you, that if you let it be known you're in a..." he trailed off.

"A relationship?" offered Harry. He opened his lips to suck on the tip of Snape's thumb.

He had never expected to see that shade of red on Severus Snape's face. "Yes." Snape coughed. "If it's known that you and I are... together, there is likely to be some unpleasantness. You may be a hero of the wizarding world, but I am not, and there are bound to be a good number of witches, and a few wizards as well, who will have hoped to get to know you in some fashion. We can each expect a fair number of letters to that effect, and doubtless some Howlers as well."

Harry shrugged. "It's worth a try." He squeezed Snape's hand. "I'm not saying that I want to leap into things too quickly, you understand. I'm not asking you to move in here today or next week. Not unless you want to; the house is certainly plenty big enough for that." He chuckled. "In fact, I used to plan that Ron, and Hermione, and maybe a few others as well, could all move in once the war was over and we'd share the place while we figured out what to do with the rest of our lives."

"If you have any wish to have me stay here, I would prefer that Grimmauld Place not be overrun by your cohorts." Snape's tone was firm, although he dropped his hand to squeeze Harry's leg as he spoke.

"Right, I'll keep that in mind, then." Harry grinned. "At any rate, I won't invite anyone else to move in just yet. So you're free to choose a room and stay here if you like, or go home to your own place if you prefer. Though I'd hope you'd visit, or I would."

Snape scowled. "Spinner's End is in ill repair, and I was never very fond of it anyway."

"So you'll stay here?" Harry ignored the flutter of excitement in his stomach and tried to speak calmly.

"For the time being. I will feel more comfortable if there is a room that is my own." He cocked his head at Harry. "Just tell me which was your late godfather's room, so that I may avoid that one."

A bubble of laughter welled up, but Harry suppressed it. "I'll show you which one belonged to Sirius. And there are a few that have had other people staying in them, as you know, but that shouldn't be a problem. You want to go and look now?"

Snape reached over and took Harry's teacup away, placing it next to his own. "Perhaps in a little while," he murmured as he bent his head to brush his lips over Harry's.

* * *

Author's note: The title is from Alfred Tennyson, "Ulysses". Thanks to telperion1 for the beta! 


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